Fire Fighter
by vlora
Summary: Trent's PoV based on the episode Fire! (4x12) Implied Trent interest in Daria, Jane/Tom and Daria/Tom.


"Hey."

"Hey." Trent stepped aside so Tom could get in. "Janey's in her room."

"Right."

"Right." Trent echoed for a second time. The boy rarely said more than two words to Trent, not unless he needed something. No pleasantries exchanged between them, no mention of interests, nothing. He had to wonder if he served as a bellboy to Tom, who acted as though Trent was oblivious to the goings-on in the Lane household. Specifically, what was going on between Tom and Jane.

Trent narrowed his eyes as he watched tom go up the stairs. He turned _right_, not left. Unless he had to go to Trent's room, or Penny's, there wasn't much that way. Trent shouldn't have noticed, but he had. He chalked it up to Tom being an idiot, who couldn't hear the drill whirring or remember where Jane was. He expected Tom to turn back at any moment.

But he didn't.

Whatever.

There was cereal in the pantry with his name on it.

The kid had no respect for Casa Lane, and no respect for the Lane way. So long as Jane was happy, Trent would keep his head out of the situation. _Damned_ if he wasn't going to be happy to see the last of that Sloane, though. Tom had poked his head into the Lane household after one of his fights with Jane, looking to apologize. He'd snacked on some of her gummi bears, and Trent had told him where she was.

Of course, Tom didn't have a clue where the mart had been. He'd driven the kid there, only to have him attached at the hip. While Jesse was a welcome companion, Tom sneered at the bulk sized toilet rolls, the cheap crap that poor families had to live with. Who needs that much ketchup? Probably someone who can't afford a five dollar bottle every time they ran out.

It was like chilling with smaller version of The Man; The Mini Man. Trent jotted that down on the inside of a cereal box lid, hand crusted with sugar. He tapped his foot to an imaginary tune, mouthing unheard lyrics. Something about a factory line, then maybe something to do with upgrades and robot parts… Yeah. That sounded cool.

It didn't take a genius to notice the torn canvases and ruined brushes by the trashcan. When Jane and Tom weren't fighting, they were brooding, or not together at all. As Jane avoided his problems Monique, Trent avoided making comment about Tom. He kept an ear out, sure, made sure nothing came to blows. Not that the kid seemed liable to turn violent. He had a nasty attitude and passed comments that he thought Trent wouldn't understand, but he got the message loud and clear.

The shouting at subsided at least, seeing as he hadn't heard Tom or Jane shout. Maybe they'd hit the lull where they glared at one another. Monique would throw things, but he didn't think either of them were the type. Trent continued to workshop his song before tearing the slip of cardboard off. He folded it neatly and tucked it into his pocket. He'd have to transcribe all the nuances, and then let Jesse know.

Trent could worry about Tom and Jane, but that wasn't his place. He had to keep his head out, let them work through it. Jane would come to him if she needed him. Besides, that's what Daria was there for. Jane and Daria were a support network of two, and they'd gotten through worse patches. He had noticed some tension between them, but hadn't seen any concrete evidence. Maybe it was how reluctant Jane seemed about having Daria over, when Daria had once willingly offered her home to them.

At least Daria had warmed up to Tom. That should make things easier for Jane and Daria; one less thing to fight about. Hell, maybe they weren't shouting _because _Daria was around. She was probably reading, as she usually did, but her being a third wheel might balance out the tricycle.

Damn, he was on a roll tonight.

Voice sounded from Penny's room. The door was ajar, while Daria usually had it shut. But there was drilling coming from Janey's room, and – damn. Hadn't he seen Tom take a right? He'd forgotten that Daria was staying in Penny's room. She was so quiet, it was easy to forget. He stopped his steps, eyes narrowed.

"A glass coffin surrounded by tourists and necrophiliacs?" The tone of voice was amicable enough.

"I _knew_ you'd find the upside."

Laughter, between Daria and Tom. It curdled the air, when once both of their laughter had been welcome. From Daria, it meant himself or Jane had said something funny. Come to think of it, he couldn't place the last time he'd heard Daria laugh. It happened so rarely. He hadn't even really said anything to her in her time here. He hadn't wanted to confuse her, or make her feel unwelcome. Her crush on him made it difficult to speak to her without trying to impress her, or sound smart.

Trent turned on his heel, going to Jane's room. He'd kept out long enough, but Tom had been here since four. It was seven now, and Trent was damn sure he hadn't said anything to Jane. The muscles in his jaw worked away as he maintained his cool. A few knocks later and a very brief discussion, Jane was down the hall and at Penny's door.

That was another problem.

It hadn't been his place – he'd done too much in telling Jane about Tom's folly. He'd thrown away his hands-off approach to the nasty love triangle. Jane was pissed at Daria and at Tom, he gathered, from the growls and snaps he heard from Penny's room. Trent shut himself up in his room, flat on his back. _Don't beat up Tom; it isn't in your nature. You're a musician; settle your problems with music. _Was it for fucking with Jane's feelings, or for flirting with Daria?

Another hour passed by. Tom was gone, Jane was in her room, and Daria was reading. Trent took to a bottle of Jack by his bed, two mouthfuls for the hell of it. It was an imaginary shot of courage, something to blame if he said something stupid. The warmth took to his stomach, his fingertips, and he decided it was time. He'd spoken out of place once tonight, and he wasn't stopping now.

Two knocks and then all he could do was hope he was helping.

"Come in."

There she was, reading. The girl was predictable. He wondered if she ever let loose, got drunk, threw up all over the place, made mistakes – probably not. Lucky. Or smart. Or both. "Hey, Daria. Have you seen Janey? I think one of us was supposed to give the other one a ride somewhere." A lie. He could get wheverer he needed without Jane driving him there; Jane was supposed to be on a date with Tom.

"She's probably over at Tom's, avoiding me."

Ouch. Just her voice struck a nerve.

"Oh..." He hadn't thought about that. He'd figured Jane would be here still. And maybe she was. Wasn't too important. She could handle herself. But she wasn't in the best mood, and she didn't want to be around Daria - so why was she hanging around with Tom? "Or making sure Tom does." He added thoughtfully, eyes narrowed at Daria.

"Oh, no, not you, too." Emotion was magnified when it came from Daria. The lows were lower, the highs were higher. Not that she was any _more_ expressive than others; that was what made it such a stark change. She was withdrawn, quiet, and played everything close to her chest. Her head was buried in the sand on the issue, too. Either she didn't know Tom liked her, or didn't want to know. Trent didn't blame her. It was a messy situation. "Look, Trent, there's nothing going on between me and Tom."

"If you say so." The arguments between Tom and Jane mirrored the hostility between Daria and Jane. Trent recognized the clipped tones, especially when Daria had requested to stay over. It wouldn't have been an issue a few months back. Now?

"What?" Daria sounded annoyed, or maybe that was just him. She'd abandoned her book,

"Come on, Daria. I'm a musician." Trent spoke simply, straightforward, and cut to the heart of the issue. He didn't need fancy words or metaphors to get the point across. All that did was jerk off your creativity, rather than actually create. When it came to matters of the heart, Trent was keenly attuned. "I'm very sensitive to shifts in mood."

A frown formed on her lips, the expression a shift of pace for Daria. She was usually so stalwart and unbendable. He'd fucked up. He could sense that much. "Then your senses must be going into overdrive about now." The tiny fists that had formed by her sides, the prickled edges, the defiance… This wasn't the same girl who'd gotten stranded with him on the way to Alternapalooza.

"Hey, I've seen you together. Guys can always tell when other guys are into someone. You know, ethereal transference." Like when Jesse saw a cute girl. It was a subtle shift in stance, in their focus, and you didn't mess with that.

"Trent, even if what you just said made sense, I think I would know if Tom were "into" me... and he's not." For a smart girl, Daria didn't have a clue. Tom was always sniping nasty comments at Trent when Daria was around, appealing to her nastier side. Either he was trying to discredit Trent as a viable option, or he was just a jackass. Or both. And it worked. Daria laughed, Daria smiled, which was more than Trent could say for this conversation.

Trent knew about Daria's affection for him, though he tried not to think about it. It had faded in time. She had become more confident around him. They could speak candidly, like now, which didn't help his side of the equation. He'd tried to push her away so he'd stop idolizing her, and let her grow up. Because she was just that bit too young for him to gel with her without feeling like a predator. He admired her from afar, when he could.

And now, Tom saw Daria for what she was; for what Trent had always known of her. And that pissed him off, as Janey's older brother, as Daria's friend. The girls had a hard enough time without this crap splitting them in two.

"Okay. I should go."

Trent didn't have time or will power to beat the knowledge into Daria's head. She never was too good at picking up when guys were into her. Max had a phase with girls in glasses, and he'd sent a few smiles and nods at Daria. She had ignored them all, or given him strange looks. Or she hadn't even noticed. Trent had told him to knock it off quickly enough. Janey's best friend was off-limits to the Spiral.

A sigh stopped his exit. "I'm sorry, Trent. It's just that I don't exactly know what's going on."

Funny. Daria insisted that she knew Tom didn't like her, and that she knew what was going on. She couldn't handle not being on control of a situation, he wagered. She was too used to having all the knowledge she needed to conquer her problems. While that was true most of the time, Trent had the upper hand here. Emotions, romance, betrayal, he knew it all. He'd broken as many hearts as he'd had his own heart broken. It was part and parcel of being an emotional entity, who played their soul out on a shitty pawnshop guitar.

"Well, whatever it is, no one said you meant for it to happen." It wasn't like Daria had played the temptress. She had acted herself, she hadn't bended or broken for Tom to look her way, and maybe that was part of her draw. You mightn't notice Daria when you first walk into a club, but once you did, that was it. Her Mona Lisa smile needed to be cracked open by words or lips or something - Trent needed a smoke.

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

Trent hovered by the door, debating his next move. She wasn't smart enough to know Tom was into her, and she'd never believe he'd liked her, once. Or he thought he had. Maybe. Before the project, before their conversation, he'd seen her for what she was. "But there's no use playing dumb, right?"

A chime from downstairs broke Trent's concentration. A bubbly hello revealed who had come knocking. Mrs. Morgendorffer, right on time. She might have an alarm for when guys got too close to her daughters. With Quinn around, it would've been a safe investment. Trent realized he had remained standing, waiting for an answer he wasn't going to get. He looked between the bed, the drawers, realizing Daria would need privacy to pack. Trent wordlessly nodded to Daria, stepping out the bedroom and down the hall.

Liquid courage be damned, he needed electroshock therapy, something, anything to break away from Daria.


End file.
